


Oh, What A Night

by PracticallyIJ



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: Fluff, Joey is an agony aunt, Light Angst, M/M, Post Live Punishment, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 23:12:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5888866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PracticallyIJ/pseuds/PracticallyIJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the after party for the live punishment, and emotions - and blood alcohol levels - are running high. Sal and Q's inhibitions are running low, which could turn out to be either a good thing or a bad thing, depending on whether Joe feels like meddling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, What A Night

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to confess right here that I've watched the live punishment about fifteen times at this point and cried every time because of all the emotion. So while I don't believe this is what actually happened - it would be odd if I did - I do have a lot of feelings about their big group hug.  
> Rated M for smut (and naughty language). Enjoy!

It had been the wildest, most _surreal_ fucking night that Sal could remember ever having. If someone had told him ten years ago that he and his three best friends would attempt to walk a high wire in front of a crowd of hundreds of people, on live TV - and one of them would actually make it across - he'd have thought they were crazy. Looking back on the evening, it all seemed a little unreal, like a particularly vivid dream.

With the benefit of hindsight, he realised that his own walk hadn't gone as badly as he'd thought, but at the time he'd been sure that in his panic he was gonna pass out or throw up on the unlucky people below. It was all he could do just to keep breathing, and he'd focused on his friends' shouts of encouragement. He focused especially on Q's, using the familiarity of his voice to centre himself and stay grounded. It had given him the courage to walk, and when he came down, he was rewarded with a long hug from Q and a heartfelt "I'm so goddamn proud of you, buddy," murmured almost tearfully in his ear.

Q's walk was almost as nerve-wracking. The guy had always adamantly maintained that he worked better a little buzzed, but Sal knew statistics of reaction times and shit like that way too well to feel okay with this. So when he watched his best friend down a double of whiskey and get in the crane, he'd felt panic rising again. He had felt helpless and overwrought, so put his nervous energy into yelling up at Q, ostensibly shouts of support, but shouts which really meant "don't die up there, please be okay, I need you, buddy". He'd felt the same about Joe and Murr, but Q was special in a way he'd never really been able to put his finger on.

The second Q reached the other side, Sal had screamed himself hoarse. He had turned to Joe, grasping his friend's arms, and just stared at him, eyes wide and mouth open in a speechless smile. He was so fucking _proud_ of the guy that he could barely breathe. Joe just laughed and laughed while Murr squealed incoherently. And then came the best moment of all: Q coming up behind them onto the stage, yelling, his face a picture of stunned disbelief. Sal had been unable to contain himself. Turning around, he'd thrown his arms around Q, hugging him tight and close, totally powerless to hold back tears of joy, relief, and pride for his friend. Joe, Murr, Casey, and Bello joined them a moment later to make one massive embrace, the fans screaming their love and support. Sal thought at the time, holding on to the most important people in his entire world, that they'd finally hit the pinnacle of this journey - nothing could ever top that moment.

******

It was midnight, and the aftershow party was in full swing. Sal was three shots and four beers in, and was definitely a little drunk. Sitting on a table in the middle of the room, he looked for Q, who was deservedly the man of the hour and had been mingling and talking to everybody. Everybody was also buying him drinks, so Sal thought it might be time to pull him out of there for a while before he couldn't stand up any more. Finally, he spotted him amidst a group of people, laughing and talking animatedly, hands waving around. He still had a slight air of disbelief about him. Sal got up and made his way through clusters of people, making a beeline for him.

Before he even got halfway across the room, he realised that Q had seen him coming, focus shifting instantly from the person in front of him to Sal, his gaze intense and his smile changing to something a little different, a little warmer. Sal tried to recall Q looking at the other guys like that, and couldn't. But when he gave Sal that look, he always had the oddest feeling like he was the only person in the world in that moment, the only person that _mattered_. His best friend was a pretty intense person, though. Despite his gruff attempts to look apathetic all the time, Sal knew that he felt every emotion fiercely, to its very fullest - sometimes that was a good thing, but other times it was a terrible disadvantage. Because of this, Sal rationalised that Q probably looked at everyone the same, because no matter who the person was or how they figured in his life, he gave them his full attention. Sal had mixed feelings about that - he always felt caught between affectionate admiration for his friend’s unprejudiced concern for people, and an unsettling, shameful envy of whoever was the focus of his regard at any given time.

He reached Q, who excused himself from the group and stepped towards Sal, still smiling. Taking Sal completely off guard, he grasped his shoulder and pulled him into a close hug, rubbing his back. The feeling of Q stroking him and breathing in his ear, coupled with his alcohol-heightened senses, sent an unexpected thrill down his spine. Q drew back and looked Sal up and down, his eyes warm and crinkled. "Hey, buddy! How are ya doin'?"

"Well, y'know. We just did the most fucked up thing in our lives so far, so... pretty good, yeah."

Q laughed, low and husky. "C'mon, let's go sit down. There's an empty sofa over in the corner with our names all over it."

Sal raised an eyebrow. "Quinn, have you been writing on the furniture again?"

******

Half an hour later, and a few more drinks inside both of them, they were still sitting on the sofa in the corner. Their heads almost close enough for their foreheads to touch, they were discussing the events of earlier.

"Helluva night, ah?" Q said gently. He was slurring his words a little, and his eyes were soft, fond. For all that Sal worried about Q's well-being when he was drunk, in truth he selfishly liked this Brian Quinn. This version of him was still the same person, but without the cares, the stoicism, the defences. This version wasn't afraid to be tactile, and reach out and touch people. Above all, though, he liked this Brian because it was who his best friend truly was - simply stripped of all the walls he normally hid behind. Wistfully, he found himself wishing that Q didn't have to be intoxicated to feel able to be his real self, to let his guard down. Then he suddenly realised that he'd been staring at Q without replying. He blushed and looked away, feeling lightheaded. He suspected that was only partly to do with the drink. " _Hell_ of a night. Shit, Q. When we first started out, did you ever think...?"

"...That we'd be walking a fuckin' tightrope like, a billion feet above New York, with _millions of fucking people_ watching?" Q finished, eyebrow raised and an amused twist to his mouth. "Fuck, Sally, I don't think anyone saw that coming." He shook his head and laughed to himself incredulously, then raised his eyes to meet Sal's, his expression becoming serious. "But I gotta say... if I had to do it all over again, all of it, every single challenge and punishment and show? I wouldn't change a fuckin' thing, buddy. And I am so... so _fucking_ _ecstatic..._ that I got to do it with Joe, Murr - and you, bud." The last was spoken with an oddly soft tone, the expression on his face difficult to read. His eyes were puppyish and wide, one corner of his lips lifting up.

Impulsively, Sal reached for Q's hand, stroking it with his thumb. He suddenly felt really emotional, and holding back tears, he spoke, low and fierce. "Me too, Quinn. And - and I just wanna tell you that I am _so_ fuckin’ prouda what you did tonight, buddy. You know? I gotta tell ya… you should never say ‘I can’t’ or ‘I’m not good enough’ ever again because I saw you up there, and you did somethin’ in a month that people train fuckin’ years for, so I want you to remember that you fuckin’ _can_ , bud. You - you fuckin’ can."

Q simply looked at him. His eyes were round and a little shocked, and they grew watery. He was biting his bottom lip slightly, and Sal found himself wondering guiltily when the last time anyone had said anything like this to him even was. He resolved to change that.

Q still didn’t - or couldn’t - speak, and Sal couldn’t think of anything else to say, so his passionate speech just hung there between them, growing and changing into something tense, a loaded silence that felt suspiciously as though a storm that had long been brewing undetected between them was finally coming to a head. They gazed into each other's eyes. Suddenly Q was leaning in, one hand on Sal's knee to steady himself as he swayed slightly, the other cupping his cheek gently, tenderly, as if Sal was a dream and touching him too much might wake Q up. He was looking at him with _so much_ unspoken affection, and if Sal had been sober he would probably have run a mile - from his fear, from his feelings, and from all of the implications and risks of this strange, tense moment. But he wasn't, so he covered Q's hand, still resting on his knee, with his own, and moved in, closing his eyes... only to be interrupted by the _very_ drunk Murr, and a totally sober Joe, plopping down on each side of them with drinks. They shuffled apart hurriedly, Q almost falling over in his haste, Sal blushing crimson and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He cursed the god of bad fucking timing for choosing this particular moment to meddle.

Luckily, neither of the guys seemed to have noticed - or if they did, they didn't comment, and Sal breathed a sigh of relief. Murr spoke up, sounding ten times more Staten Island than he did when he was sober. The good diction he prided himself on always went to shit when he was drunk. "You guys, can you fuckin' believe this? A hundred episodes!" He clapped Sal on the shoulder, shaking him around in his excitement. Sal tried to glare at him, but couldn't bring himself to be truly annoyed. He could admit to feeling a little frustrated, though.

Joe, on the other side of Q, leaned forward, and a grin spread across his face. "Pretty amazing, guys. I just wanna say that I'm so goddamn prouda us." He pushed a drink into each of their hands, and lifted his own soda. “I propose a toast. To a hundred more episodes, each more excruciating than the last!”

Sal, Q and Murr laughed and raised their glasses in response. Q drained his, and Sal, still feeling slightly bitter about the earlier interruption, followed suit.

Sal turned to Q. “Wanna dance?” He knew he was taking advantage, since Q would _never_ be caught near a dance floor sober, but fuck it.

Q barely hesitated, his smile gentle and a little mischievous. “Okay.”

Sal, anticipation rising, stood up - then nearly fell over - but righted himself, and offered a hand to Q, looking at him with what he drunkenly felt was a charming smile. "Let's tear up this floor, baby."

******

The dance floor was Sal's territory, his armour. It was where he felt brave, so when he got there with Q, he immediately grabbed the guy by the waist and pulled them together, so that they were flush against each other - chest to chest, abdomen to abdomen, and groin to groin. Q's eyes were crinkled, his pupils dilated, and he had a wide, sincere smile on his face. It was that look again, the look that seemed to always be for Sal only. That expression, along with the booze warming his veins, and the music - a slow, sexy R&B track - made Sal reckless, and he turned around, placing Q's hands on his hips. Then, raising his arms above his head, he began to dance, rotating his hips. Q started moving too, burying his face into Sal's neck and pressing closer into him, creating a pleasant friction between his ass and Q's crotch, which caused a growing feeling of arousal that increased with the pace. Suddenly, he heard, and felt, a low groan, muffled into his neck. He closed his eyes, suppressing his own moan, as he felt the unmistakeable evidence of his best friend’s arousal. Feeling himself getting hard in response, he thanked _fuck_ it was dark and crowded, because this was bordering on indecent, and with Q grinding against his ass, he was getting very quickly to the point where he didn't care. Coming back to himself for a moment, he took a quick look around him. Luckily, everybody was either too drunk or too busy dancing to notice what was going on.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he turned around, taking in Q's flushed face, his heavy breathing, and a disappointed pout that Sal wanted to kiss right off his mouth. “Hey, let's… d'ya wanna get outta here?”

Q laughed, and when he spoke, his voice was low and thick with arousal - it made Sal’s stomach flutter and his heart pound. “I thought you’d never fuckin’ ask.”

******

Before the punishment, they had all booked a hotel, both for convenience, and also in the knowledge that all except Joe would be getting drunk afterwards. It was only a block away, so they walked, a little unsteadily. Sal could barely keep his hands off the other man, touching anywhere and everywhere he could get away with: an arm sneaking around his waist, a hand on his ass, light fingers down his back. Halfway there, Q groaned in frustration and grabbed Sal’s hand, pulling him into a side alley and pinning him by his wrists against the wall. Between hard, sloppy kisses, he growled, “Fuck. Sal. I can’t - I can’t wait ‘til the hotel. Shit, what're you _doin'_ to me?”

His breathing unsteady, he bent his head, kissing and biting Sal’s neck. At the same time, he ground their crotches together. Sal’s mind went blank. He became a quivering mess, gasping out a disjointed tangle of moans and Q’s name, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was still pinned against the wall - by the other man’s weight against him as well as by his wrists - he would have collapsed. Q’s mouth left his neck, and he felt a mixture of disappointment and relief - he had definitely been about to come in his underwear. He found the ability to speak at least half-coherent sentences from somewhere. “Q, fuck, shit, _God_ \- wait.” Q drew back, frowning a little, his eyes dark with lust. Sal was panting, his head light, his stomach aching with desire, “Wait. Oh God, I _need_ you. Not here. Hotel.” He gazed at Q mutely, trying to catch his breath and hoping he understood all of the reasons why he didn’t want it to be here.

“Okay. C’mon.” Q let Sal go, then caught him by the waist as his legs nearly gave in. “Whoa, I’ve got you, buddy. I’ve got you.”

Sal righted himself, Q keeping a careful arm around him - despite the fact that he was unsteady himself - and they began walking as quickly as possible. The rest of the short journey was silent, fraught with tension and anticipation, and Sal felt just as drunk and giddy on his lust - and on other feelings he wasn’t sure he was ready to admit to - as he did on the alcohol. He firmly pushed away the nagging worry that Q was only willing to do this because he was under the influence, not because of any real feelings on his part.

After what seemed like forever, they arrived at Q’s hotel room. As soon as they were in the door, they were on each other - Sal had no idea who had grabbed the other first, and he sure as hell didn’t care - all heated, wet, hard kisses, and bruising hands roaming everywhere. Clothes were quickly discarded, and they were both down to their boxers in minutes. Q pushed Sal onto the bed and straddled him, leaning down to kiss his neck and his chest, and caress everywhere he could reach, eliciting gasps from Sal, who felt like he had never been more sensitive in his life. He felt like everywhere Q touched was set alight with pleasure, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

“Fuck, Sal,” Q murmured between long, lingering kisses, “you’re so hot. So fuckin’ _hot._ ” Suddenly and swiftly, he shuffled back and stripped Sal of his boxers, then discarded his own. Sal shivered at the cool air on his aching cock, and then moaned a little at the sight of the other guy’s erection.

Q crawled back up to kiss Sal hard, growling. “Shit. I want you. I… _fuck_... I need you...”

Sal kissed back, nipping and sucking at Q’s bottom lip, causing him to groan into his mouth. Reaching down between them, he grasped both of their dicks and began to move his hand up and down, setting a fast rhythm.

Q’s hips jerked, and he buried his face into Sal’s neck, muffling his grunts and cries, which were a repetition of Sal’s name, and every creative swear word there was. Hearing his own name spoken like _that_ by his best friend, combined with the exquisite pleasure of every jerk and twist of his wrist and erratic thrust of Q’s hips, brought him to the very edge, and from the way Q was trembling, he knew he was already close too. “Brian… I’m so close - I’m so... _f-fuck…”_ Another couple of seconds and Sal was coming, his chest heaving, tears on his cheeks, one hand in Q’s hair, _fuck Brian so hot I love you Bri so fuckin’ beautiful I love you I love you I love you_ pouring out of his mouth in mindless half-sobs. And a moment later, Q came too, shaking and moaning, clutching painfully, _gloriously_ tight at Sal’s hips, and biting and sucking hard on his neck.

They stayed that way for a few minutes while they came down. Slow, lazy kisses were swapped, chaste in comparison to what had come before. Then Q rolled off Sal, lying on his back. He turned his head to look at him, tenderness and affection plain to see in his eyes. “Fuckin’ amazin'.” he murmured sleepily, a drowsy half-smile on his face. Sal planted a soft, sweet kiss on his lips, then got up slowly, mindful of the mess. He wet a facecloth under the tap, carried it into the bedroom, and stopped. Q had fallen asleep, his breathing already evening out. Sal smiled, feeling a sudden giddy uprush of love for this adorable, sexy, ridiculous man. He cleaned himself up, then walked over to Q, and spent ten minutes gently cleaning him off and _really_ carefully getting his boxers back on him without waking him. He couldn’t just leave him naked and sticky, that’d be _gross_. Then he debated whether to sleep alongside him, or go to his own room. What if this was just a one time thing for Q? He wanted to spend the rest of the night there so fucking bad, _yearned_ for it - but what if the guy was gonna regret it in the morning? He wasn’t gonna want Sal to stick around for that. And if it wasn’t just a one time thing - God, he really hoped it wasn't - he could just explain why he slept in his own room, and Q would understand.

So he tucked Q in with the blanket, moving his hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear, and dropping a soft kiss on his forehead. Then he got dressed, and went back to his own room, his side feeling a little cold and empty where his best friend might have slept.

******

The next morning, Sal woke up, sprawled on his front, blanket half-covering him. Sitting up carefully, he rubbed his eyes and thanked God that he escaped the night with nothing more than a minor headache. He wondered what kind of hangover Q was nursing, and with that thought came rushing back all of the memories and feelings of last night. He remembered his overwhelming pride at his best friend's success, a feeling of camaraderie and love for his friends and all their fans... and then there was tension, and lust, and anticipation, followed by heated kisses and roaming hands and blinding, pure satisfaction. Sal blushed, heat pooling low in his belly again at the memory of it. He got up, groaning a little at his aching muscles, and headed for the shower. Just before he got in, he caught a look at himself in the mirror, and inhaled sharply, one hand flying to his neck where there were multiple hickeys, purple and livid against his skin, and another to his hips, where there were fingerprint-shaped bruises. “Holy _fuck_ ,” Sal murmured. Despite the issues around having to hide his neck for the next week, he was kinda… _happy_ about the marks that had been left on him. If last night truly was the only time he would ever get to experience that kind of connection with Q, then he would be glad to carry the evidence around with him for as long as he could, and treasure each mark until it faded. He was still gonna wear a scarf, though.

******

The four comics met in the foyer of the hotel a while past nine, Joe looking fresh and awake, Murr looking like shit, and Q dishevelled and sleepy. Joe looked between Sal and Q, sipping his coffee. "Where did you jerks run off to last night in such a hurry?"

Sal, tugging self-consciously at his scarf, cast a quick glance at Q, who frowned before speaking. "Uhh. I actually can't remember. The last thing I remember is talking to Sal at the party, then I woke up in my hotel room."

He looked enquiringly at Sal, who started panicking. _Shit._ Q didn't even remember what happened last night? What should Sal do? Should he come clean about what happened, or not say anything? If he did mention it, what would his friend say - would he be okay with it, or would he be disgusted and never want to talk to Sal again? Abruptly he realised everyone was staring at him, and clearing his throat, he made a snap decision. "Umm, well. Q got a little sick, so I took him back to his room and made sure he was okay, and I was tired too, so I went to bed. In my room." he finished lamely, hyper-aware of how awkward and stilted he sounded. Not for the first time, he internally cursed his awful lying abilities.

Q and Murr, both obviously hungover, sort of just shrugged and accepted it, but Joe was definitely not buying it. Disbelief was written plain on his face, one eyebrow raised and the barest hint of a smirk on his face. Sal realised with a sinking feeling that he was getting interrogated as soon as Joe got him alone.

Joe held Sal's gaze for a few moments longer, then side-eyed Q, who still appeared oblivious, and then spoke. "So. Who wants breakfast? I don't know about you guys but Cap'n Fatbelly wants some _donuts!_ " He said 'donuts' while slapping his belly, making the others laugh, Q and Murr following up their giggles with pained groans.

So, after some debate about where to go to eat (Joe wanted to find an IHOP, Sal and Q wanted to go somewhere that did great sandwiches, and Murr didn't want to go anywhere near any food), they all found themselves in a nearby sandwich shop. They were all sitting around a little table, breakfast in front of all of them except Murr, who had to almost physically be dragged there, and insisted on nothing but water. Sal had no sympathy for him, and privately thought that since the idiot _knew_ he couldn't hold his drink, he shouldn't have drunk so much in the first place.

Their meal passed with laughter and companionable talk about nothing and everything, the main topic, of course, being the success of the live punishment. All of them felt as Sal did - like it wasn't quite real, or like _they_ were the ones on some weird hidden camera show and someone was gonna jump out and tell them they were on TV. Now _that_ would be fucking weird.

"...And I kept thinkin', how did we get so lucky? We're doin' the most fun jobs in the world with all the people we love the most. It's ridiculous!" Joe was in full flow, his hands waving dramatically and his mouth full of food. Sal shot him a disgusted look and he swallowed before carrying on enthusiastically. The conversation eventually and inevitably turned to work - which Sal was glad for, because without that distraction, he would have spent the entire time remembering last night and trying not to stare openly at Q, who was sitting across from him - and soon raucous laughter filled the place as they started coming up with new ideas and material for challenges. Sal began getting out pens and writing on as many napkins as he could get his hands on before he could forget all his ideas, Joe spouted goofy jokes and impressions at a mile a minute, and Q made dry observations, coming up with (in Sal's opinion) the funniest shit out of the four of them. It was the kind of material where you had to be completely deadpan on delivery. He also predicted their own and the public’s reactions to potential situations. Q was the best out of all of them at that, which Sal really admired about him. Although he found it difficult to talk to people, he made up for it in spades by being sensitive and empathic, which made him a great judge of character. Murr sat with his head in his arms, sitting up every so often to chip in with the grosser, weirder jokes and ideas.

After a while, Sal stretched and looked at his watch. “Jesus! It’s one o’clock! How did we spend _three hours_ in here?”

The time had flown by, and somehow without realising it, they were all at least three coffees in, as well as a second sandwich each. Murr and Q had totally woken up at this point, and it was Murr who spoke up now, mild dismay on his face as he and Q stood up. “Shit, you guys, me and Quinn have gotta go! We have some work to do. We’ll catch you later, right?” He left the shop, waving at Q to hurry up.

Q turned to Joe and Sal, smirking, “A whole afternoon workin' with a hungover Murray,” he remarked dryly, “anyone wanna swap?” He didn’t wait for a response, but leaned down to give Joe a brief hug, then hugged Sal, a soft “seeya later, buddy” spoken in his ear. He’d showered - he smelled clean and fresh, and incredibly appealing. Sal had to resist the urge to hold on to him.

He watched Q walk out of the door and disappear into the street, then turned his attention to Joe, and immediately blushed as he saw the look on his friend’s face - a wide, shit-eating grin, and eyes that looked delighted, as though he was a four year old that had been given a new toy to play with. He knew exactly what was coming, but he had to ask anyway. “The fuck are you lookin’ at me like that for?” _Shit, Vulcano, way too defensive!_

Joe raised his eyebrows, still grinning, and leaned forward, propping his chin up on his elbows. “Oh, come on, Sal. You know _exactly_ what this face is for.”

Sal folded his arms stubbornly. “No, I don’t. So whatever you’ve got to say, just say it and quit actin' like a teenage girl.”

Joe huffed a little, but his delighted smile barely faltered. “Okay, fine. Firstly, I’m gonna have to give you some bad news: you’re a terrible fuckin’ liar, pal. It was painfully obvious you were lying this morning. You’d _never_ be with Q if he got sick. Second, I’ve known you long enough now to be able to tell when you’ve gotten laid, and buddy, last night _you. got. laid._ And finally, why the fuck are you wearin' a scarf? It’s eighty three degrees out! Oh!" He made a mock 'eureka!' face, "Unless… you got somethin’ to hide…?”

He reached across and made a grab for Sal’s scarf, but Sal swiftly dodged him. He felt himself flush bright red, feeling simultaneously embarrassed at being caught, and angry at himself for broadcasting himself to Joe so obviously. “ _Okay_ , stop, fuck!” he hissed, casting covert glances around, despite the fact that Q and Murr were long gone.

Joe wasn’t done yet. “Oh no, buddy, you don’t get off that lightly.” Sal's head hit the table with a dull _thud_. “Listen, it don’t take a genius to work out what happened last night. You started dancin', and then you _left together_ , you idiot. And you’ve been so goddamn shifty all day with your little looks at him. And don’t think I haven’t caught him lookin’ at you, either, because I have.”

Sal lifted his head up, and frowned at Joe. “He was lookin' at me? Why? He doesn’t remember last night.”

“Ahh, so you admit it then.”

“Jeez, yes, I admit it. God. But you can’t tell _anyone_. We were drunk, and emotions were running high ‘cause of the live punishment, and - and…” Sal couldn't finish.

Joe was looking at him with a different expression now, knowing and sympathetic. “And?” he prompted gently.

Sal looked down, away from Joe’s gaze, focusing on stirring the cold dregs of his coffee - more to soothe himself than for any other reason. He forced himself to reply. “And… I’m not sure if it meant the same thing to him as it did to me.” It came out in a near whisper, and he could feel his verbal admission beginning to take on weight and reality now he’d said it aloud for the first ever time. It scared him, and he looked back up at Joe, still seeing sympathy and encouragement in his face. His throat still tight and his face hot, he forced himself to say the next words, knowing he needed to say them. “I… I fucking _love_ him, Joey.” He felt so helpless.

Joe reached across the table, squeezing Sal’s shoulder. “I know. I know ya do, buddy. Look, let's get outta here, go for a walk."

******

It was a warm Friday afternoon, so although most people were still at work, the park was still fairly busy - parents with young children getting some exercise, students doing work in the outdoors, or retirees soaking up the early autumn sun.

Sal and Joe were seated on a bench in a secluded area of the park that generally got no traffic. After his confession in the sandwich shop, Sal was struggling to find the right words to say, to express all of his fear and doubt to Joe. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, and began messing with his fingers. He shook his head and threw his hands up in the air, feeling frustrated. _He_ was meant to be the eloquent one! "I-I can't."

Joe, who up until now had been waiting patiently for Sal to spit it out, finally put him out of his misery. "Sal, listen to me. I get it. You're scared that it didn't mean anythin' to him. You're afraid that if you tell him he'll go weird on you and it’ll ruin your friendship. But you gotta _tell_ him, Sal."

Sal began panicking. "I can't tell him! I _can't._ What if - what if -"

"What if _what_?" Joe interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Look at it this way. Yeah, there's always a chance he doesn't want what you want, but this is Quinn we're talkin' about, so either way, I really doubt he'll hate you for what happened. And anyway - I've seen the way that guy looks at you. Buddy, put you, him, the cast of Ghostbusters and fuckin’ Miss Universe in a room together, and he'd still only be lookin’ at you."

Sal met Joe's gaze, blue eyes sincere and reassuring. He wanted so badly to believe what his friend was saying, but why _would_ Q feel the same way about him? Last night they were both intoxicated, and inhibitions had flown out of the window, and Sal had thought for a moment that maybe they were on the same page. But now, in the cold, sober light of day... he recalled suddenly that in the intensity of his climax, he'd called out "I love you" more than once. Looking away from Joe, he blushed with embarrassment to think that he'd said that, even if Q _couldn't_ remember. And, he realised with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he had never responded to what Sal had said, never even acknowledged it. No, there was no way he felt the same, not when there were people out there that were hotter and skinnier and funnier and less _weird_ about stupid shit than Sal was.

He looked back to Joe, tears threatening. He squeezed his eyes shut to hold them back. "He doesn't love me back. Not like that. I know it."

“Ah, God, Sal. C’mere.” Sighing, Joe pulled Sal into a hug, rubbing circles on his back soothingly, murmuring, “You’ll be okay, buddy. It’s gonna be okay.”

That simple act of support was the breaking point. Sal took a long, shuddering breath and held it in a pointless attempt to stop himself crying, tears already spilling down his cheeks. Then the dam truly broke, and he was breathing again, uncontrollable, painful gasps. His heart ached with an intensity and in a way that he didn’t think it ever had before, and he couldn’t bear it. It was so fucking _unfair_! Why his best friend of all people? Why Brian fucking Quinn? The one person in the entire world who falling in love with would hold the most risks, the highest stakes. “It - it _hurts_ , Joe,” Sal sobbed into Joe’s shoulder, past caring at this point whether anyone walked by and saw them, “how am I meant to get over this?”

“Sal… look at me.” Grasping his shoulders, Joe gently moved Sal off him, then produced a clean tissue from his pocket and handed it over. Sal made a half-assed attempt to dry his eyes, and looked across at Joe, reluctant to listen. “Until he’s told you himself how he feels, you will _never_ know for sure. If you don’t tell him how you feel, or what happened between you guys, this feelin’-” he reached over and briefly touched Sal’s chest, above his heart, “-won’t go away.” Then he shrugged and smiled slightly. “Besides, you _slept_ with the guy. I think you owe it to him to at least give him the good news that he got himself laid.”

Despite himself, despite his heartache, Sal chuckled. He felt anxiety beginning to churn around inside him at the thought of having that conversation with Q, but Joe had made a strong case. “I guess you’re right. I’m fucking terrified, though. Look, I just - I can’t tell him straight away. I need some time to get my head round this, and the timing needs to be good, and I gotta get up the courage to talk to him about it. It’s gonna take me a few days.”

Joe nodded. “You’ve been doing shit that scares you for years now, so I know you got this.”

Sal smiled, wishing he had as much faith in himself as Joe did. “Thanks, man. Hey! Wasn’t Bessy expectin' you back hours ago? Shit, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay, I text her and told her you were havin’ a crisis, and she was cool. I should probably get back to her now, though. You gonna be okay, pal?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks again. God, I'm sorry... I really didn’t mean to cry all over you. What an asshole.”

Joe rolled his eyes and got up from the bench. “It’s what I’m here for. You come to Aunt Joey any time you need, buddy!”

Sal stood up too, stretched, and shouldered into Joe. “Well, okay, but I’m not gonna start calling you Aunt Joey.” They started walking towards the park exit, Sal feeling a little lighter despite the seemingly massive challenge ahead of him.

******

Seven days passed fairly quickly, and without major incident. By now, the marks Q had left on Sal were faded completely. He woke up, a week to the day that he'd cried all over Joe, and they were no longer visible. Standing in front of the mirror, touching his fingertips to where the bruises used to be on his neck and his hips, he felt a hollow sense of disappointment, and that familiar ache in his chest. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could almost still feel Q's mouth on him, hot and wet and urgent. He could almost still feel the other man's fingers, digging into him.

He opened his eyes and sighed, anxiety thrumming through his every nerve. He would talk to Q today. He'd put it off, the sight of his blemished skin each day making him content to wait. Hiding it had been an issue though, especially when they were filming challenges, but he'd pulled Emily aside and, asking no questions, she'd discreetly done some really impressive shit with makeup and hid the marks on his neck perfectly. But now the bruises were gone for real, and Sal had nothing to focus on, to remember that night by, and so he knew he had to tell him. Taking a shaky breath to keep panic at bay, he went to get ready for a long day's shooting.

******

Today they were filming in the shopping mall, pairing up and getting people to solve stupid debates. In what he suspected was a deliberate move by Joe, Sal and Q were placed together for the first round of this challenge. So it happened that during a free moment when they were wandering the lower floor, Q turned to Sal, the expression on his face a mixture of worry, and oddly, mild hurt. He murmured, too low for Joe and Murr's earpieces to catch, "You've seemed a little... distant lately, bud. You okay?"

Sal looked away on the pretence of scoping out potential members of the public. "I'm fine," he mumbled, hoping his voice didn't sound as strained to Q as it did to his own ears, "Just been tired the last few days."

Q looked at him, eyebrows raised cynically. "If you say so, buddy."

"No, really, I just haven't been sleepin' well." Sal abruptly realised that if he didn't mention it now, he never would. Feeling his breathing beginning to go haywire and anxiety starting to choke him, he spoke quickly, "Uhh, but I gotta talk to you later, about somethin'. It's kinda important."

"Okay. What's it about?" Q looked a little anxious.

"Not here. Later. We'll go for coffee." Neutral ground, Sal reasoned, so if either of them needed to get out of there, they could. Then, suddenly, the reality that he was really gonna fucking do this sunk in, and a panic attack hit him, engulfed him like a tidal wave. He caught Q staring at him with concern, and he took out his earpiece, giving it to the other guy, and switched his mic off. "Bathroom break. Back in a minute." He had to get outta there.

In the bathroom, Sal was bent over the sink, trying to get his breathing under control. He couldn't stop shaking, and his stomach was turning. He tried to breathe evenly and deeply - first in through his nose, then out through his mouth. After a moment, he heard the door open, and he straightened, trying to look like he _didn't_ feel as though he was about to die.

It was Joe. He looked Sal up and down, a neutral expression on his face. "So you're gonna tell him today, huh?"

Sal blew out a long, trembling breath, willing his heart to slow down, and laughed shakily. "How can you tell?"

"Well, I hate to tell ya this, but it wasn't the panic attack that gave it away. Those mics pick up _everything._ " Joe gave a reassuring little half smile, and squeezed Sal's arm lightly. "You got this, bud. Now c'mon, we gotta get filming again and Murray’s complaining. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm alright. Hold on, I'm coming." Sal breathed deeply a few more times, trying to calm himself, then followed Joe out.

Q was waiting where he'd left him. He looked deeply concerned. "Are you okay, buddy? You just... you started panicking and ran."

Sal forced a smile on his face, pushing down his anxiety. He focused on Q, whose kind face and sweet, expressive eyes never failed to centre him and keep him feeling right. Feeling a little bit of his stress ease away, his smile became more genuine. Whatever happened later, happened. "Yeah, I'm okay. Anxiety attack just hit me outta nowhere, man - no need to worry."

"Well, alright." Q replied doubtfully. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by Murr, who informed them in their earpieces that they were ready to go, and to go get that guy's attention right over there. So they headed over, intercepted the unwitting man, and the challenge started. Sal put all thoughts of later out of his head to focus on the task at hand. He really didn't wanna lose this one.

******

"I can't believe I lost this one!"

"Murr, what do you expect? One, you were really fuckin' creepy. Two, no way you're gonna win an argument about who's the _sexiest_ when Sal starts dancing like that. And three... what?" Q stopped counting on his fingers to look at Joe and Murr, who had halted to glance at each other for a moment, and then started laughing.

"Quinn, you just called Sal _sexy_." Joe nudged Sal with his elbow, and Sal felt himself going red.

Q blushed too, sticking his hands in his pockets in obvious discomfort. "Fuck you, you know what I meant. God, why is everyone around me a fuckin' _teenager_? It's like being back in high school."

Joe looked totally unrepentant, even when Sal shot him the most venomous glare he could muster. "Yeah, we all knew _exactly_ what you meant. Ready, Murr? I’ll drop you at the office." Smirking, he and Murr got into his car and drove out of the parking lot.

Sal turned to Q, nervous energy causing him to tense and relax his hands at his sides. "So... Coffee?"

Q grinned, the same warm, intense look on his face that had been there the night of the live punishment. "I thought you'd never ask."

Sal's stomach fluttered as he remembered another moment not so long ago where his best friend had said almost those exact words with that same expression, and they had led to a dance and a night he didn't think he could ever forget, even if he wanted to. He wondered what it would lead to this evening. “I think I know a place,” he said, totally deadpan, which was specifically calculated to tickle Q.

It worked. Q threw his head back and laughed, warm and hearty. “Sal, we spend every day together. We know all the _same places._ ”

Sal started walking - there was a place just around the corner. “Hey, I might be moonlightin’ with another comedy troupe that knows about secret coffee shops.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You seem so sure of yourself, Quinn.”

“I am, 'cause you couldn’t put up with more than three assholes in your life.” Q glanced over at Sal as he spoke, smirking.

Sal snorted. “Ya got that right. But hey, you’re _my_ assholes.” They reached the coffee place then, and the conversation halted while they ordered. Then, settling down on the comfortable, battered sofas in the corner of the shop with their drinks, he spoke up again, picking up the threads of the topic. “Besides, I doubt I’d be able to find anyone else who could put up with my weird shit and jerkassery.”

Q rolled his eyes. “That’s ridiculous and you know it. We don’t _put up_ with you, we love you, bud. So quit being a dick about yourself.”

“Just sayin’ it like I see it.” Sal stirred his drink and took a sip, closing his eyes as it warmed him through.

Q flicked Sal’s forehead, making him jump and earning a glare. “Whatever. You _know_ I’m right.” Then, picking at his jeans and looking a little apprehensive, he spoke up again. “So what did you wanna talk about, anyway?”

Sal flinched. Somehow, he’d almost forgotten what they’d come here for. His mouth dried up, and anxiety made an unwelcome reappearance. He knew he probably looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Taking a deep breath, he dived headfirst into what he realised would likely be a disaster. “God, Q. Where do I begin? Uhh. Okay. _Fuck_ , this is hard.” It had suddenly become difficult to breathe.

Q, his eyes soft and tender, reached over and took Sal’s hand in both of his, stroking it gently. “It’s okay, buddy. You can tell me. I’m here for you.”

Almost immediately feeling calmer at Q’s warm, soothing touch, Sal began again, falteringly. “Shit. Okay, so, I guess I should start by comin’ clean. Uh, well, remember last week when I said you got sick, I looked after you, and that’s why we left the party early? Well, oh God, please don’t hate me, but I... I kinda lied.” Q didn’t say anything, but his hands didn’t move from Sal’s either. “Uhh, what - what happened was that actually, we got a little drunk, and we danced, and, one thing sorta led to another, and… and... and we…” He trailed off, shaking his head. Despite the warmth in the place, he felt cold, and weak, and shaky. He stared down at the table miserably, waiting for Q to start shouting.

“...We slept together.” It wasn’t shouted. It wasn’t filled with hate, or anger. It wasn’t even shocked or surprised. It was simply… _said_ , in a half whisper. But it was full to the brim of so many different emotions that Sal, thrown completely, didn’t know where to start. He lifted his eyes to meet Q’s, and he saw there that same fond look in his eyes, tempered heartbreakingly with a sad almost-smile.

Everything suddenly came together in his head. “All this time? You - you remembered.” he whispered. His head was spinning. “Why would you… why didn’t you say anything?”

Q’s hands tightened around Sal’s, and he looked away, looking even sadder. “I was scared, Sal. Fuck, I still _am_. I assumed when I woke up on my own that you regretted the whole thing, so I thought maybe… it’d be better if… I could just try and forget about it.”

“Shit, I’m so fuckin' sorry! I never - I left because I was worried this was a one time thing for you, and I thought that if it wasn’t, we’d talk about it the next morning. God, I’m such an _asshole_. All this over a misunderstanding?” Sal put his face in his hands. He felt like the biggest jackass in the world.

Smiling, Q tugged Sal’s hands away from his face. “I guess we’re both pretty stupid.” Then his face dropped. “But, listen… I get that you don’t regret what we did, and neither do I. But I hafta know, Sal - what did it _mean_ to you?”

Sal hadn't seen him look so vulnerable in a very long time. He wanted to take him away from all of the world’s problems and keep him safe forever. “Brian... it meant fucking _everything_ to me. _You_ mean fucking everything to me. I love you. _I love you_.”

Q’s face lit up, and he looked breathtaking in his joy. He spoke, stumbling endearingly over his words in his haste to get them out. “Ya - ya know, the first time I realised how I felt was last week, when I saw you up there on the tightrope. First I thought, ‘shit, I don’t want him to die up there, he means the whole fuckin’ world to me’, and then I thought, ‘he’s braver than I’ll ever be for goin’ up there like that’. And when you came down? I could - I could only think ‘holy shit, I’m in _love_ with this guy,’ and I wanted to kiss you right there and fuckin’ then. Because you’re amazing, Sal, and I love you. I fuckin’ _adore_ you.”

Sal couldn’t speak. He knew that if he did, he would cry. So instead, cupping Q’s cheek, he leaned across the table and kissed him, trying to communicate everything he felt in that meeting of their lips. It was even better than he remembered - Q’s mouth was soft and pliant, warm, and his kisses felt so _right_ , like coming home. After a few seconds, he broke away, aware of where they were.

Q lifted his hand and stroked Sal’s cheek with the back of his hand. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured. Then he stood, offering his hand. “C’mon, let’s go. How 'bout a movie marathon at my place?”

Sal smiled, taking Q’s hand. He entwined their fingers. “Sounds good.”

They left the coffee shop. It was obvious by the teasing and the inconsequential shit they talked about as they went that almost everything was still going to be the same between them. They could both feel a fundamental, lasting shift in their relationship, though - or perhaps it had always been there, hidden just under the surface, and it had just taken something as crazy as a tightrope walk to uncover it. This new thing, this _change_ , had begun expressing itself already, through stolen kisses and linked hands, little grounding touches and whispered affirmations… and in the fresh marks that Sal would have to hide from the others, come Monday.


End file.
